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What is't, but to be nothing else but mad?
But let that

Queen. More mutter, with less art.

Pol. Madam, I swear, I use no art at all. That he is mad, 'tis true; 'tis true, 'tis pity; And pity 'tis 'tis true; a foolith figure,---But farewel it; for I will use no art. Mad let us grant him then;; and now remains That we find out the cause of this effect; Or rather say, the cause of this defect ; For this effect, defective, comes by cause; Thusit remains, and the remainder Chus.--Perpend.-I have a daughter; have, while she is mine; Who, in her duty and obedience, mark, Hath given me this ;. now gather, and surmise.

[He opens a Letler, and reads.] “ To tlre celestial, and my soul's idol, the most “ beatified (29) Ophelia.”-----That's an ill phrase:

(29) To the celefial, and my ful's idol, the mot beautified Ophelia.] I have ventured at an emendation here, against the authority of all the copies; but, I hope, upon examination, it will appear probable and reasonable. The word beautified may carry two diftinet ideas, either as applied to a woman made up of artificial beauties (which our Poet afterwards calls,

The harlot's cheek beautied with plaftring art) or- as applied to a person rich in native charms. As, in the Two Gentlemien of Verona';

And partly seeing you are beautified

With goodly shape. As Shakespeare has therefore chose to use it in the latter acceptation, to express natural comeliness; I cannot imagine, that, here, he would have excepted to the phrase, and called it a vile one. But a stronger objection still, in my mind, lyes against it. As celestial and cul's idol are the introductory. characteristies of Opbelia, what a dreadful anticlimax is it to descendi to such an epithet as beautified! On the other

beatified is a vile phrase; but you shall hear

These to her excellent white botom, these”.-.
Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her ?
Pol. Good Madam, stay a while, I will be faithful.

« Doubt thou the stars are fire, [Reading
“ Doubt that the fun doth move;
« Doubt truth to be a liar,

« But never doubt I love. " Oh, dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers ; I « have not art to reckon my groans; but that I u love thee beít, oh moit beit, believe it. Adieu. “ Thine evermore, most dear Lady, whilst

66 this machine is to him, Hamlet." This in obedience hath my daughter shewn me ; And, more above, hath his folicitings, As they fell out by time, by means, and place, All given to mine ear.

hand, beatified, as I have conjectured, raises the image ; but
Polonius might very well, as a Roman catholic, call it a
vile phrase, i c. favouring of prophanation; since the epithet
is peculiarly made an adjunct to the Virgin Mary's honour,
and therefore ought not to be employed in the praise of a
mere mortal. Again, though beautified, perhaps, is no where
else applied to an earthly beauty, yet the fame rapturous
ideas are employed in terms purely fynonymous.
No Valentine indeed for sacred Sylvia.

Two Gentlemen of Verona.
Even the; and is me not a heavenly saint?
Call her divine.

My vows were earthly, thou a heavenly love.

Love's Labour's 10%.
Celestial as thou art, pardon, Love, this wrong;
That fiags Heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue.

Ibid. And Beaumont and Fletcher, I remember, in A Wife for a Month, make a lover subscribe his letter to his mistress, thus ;

-Ty the biejt Evanthe.

King. But how has she received his love
Pol. What do you think of me?
King. As of a man faithful and honourable.
Pol. I would fain prove so. But what might you

When I had seen this hot love on the wing,
(As I perceived it, I muit tell you that,
Before my daughter told me :) what might you,
Or my dear Majesty your Queen here, think?
If I had played the desk or table-book,
Or given my heart a working, mute and dumb,
Or looked upon this love willı idle light;
What might you think? no, I went round to work,
And my young miitress thus I did bespeak;
Lord Hamlet is a prince out of thy sphere,
This inust not be: and then I precepts give her,
That she should lock herself from his refort,
Admit no messengers, receive no tokens :

hich done, the took the fruits of my advice;
And he repulsed, a short tale to make,
Fell to a sadness, then into a fast,
Thence to a watching, thence into a weakness,
Thence to a lightness, and, by this declension,
Into the madness wherein now he raves,
And all we wail for.

King. Do you think this?"
Queen. It may be very likely.

Pol. Hath there been such a time, I'd fain know That I have positively said, 'tis so, [that, When it proved otherwise?

King. Not that I know.
Por. Take this from this, if this be otherwise.

[Pointing to his Head and Shoulder
If circumstances lead me, I will find
Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed
Within the centre.

Xing. How may we try it further?

Pol. You know sometimes he walks four hours Here in the lobby.

(together Queen. So he does indeed.

Pol. At such a time I'll loose my daughter to him; Be you

and I bebind an arras then,
Mark the encounter: if he love her not,
And be not from his reason fallen thereon,
Let me be no atlitant for a state,
But keep a farm and carters.
King. We will try it.

Enter HAMLET, reading.
Queen. But look where fadly the poor wretch

comes reading.
Pol. Away, I do befeech you, both away.
I'll board him presently. [Exeunt King and Queen
Oh, give me leave.----How does my good Lord

Hamlet ?
Ham. Well, God o' mercy,
Pol. Do

Lord ?
Ham. Excellent well; you are a fishmonger.
Pol. Not I, my

Ham. Then I would you were so honest a man.
Pol. Honeit, my Lord?

Ham. Ay, Sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.

Pol. That's very true, my Lord.

Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, Being a good kissing carrion-... Have you a davghter?

Pol. I have, my Lord.

Ham. Let her not walk i' th’ fun; conception is a blesling, but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to't.

know me, my

read, my

Pol. How fay you by that? ftill harping on my

daughter !
Yet he knew me not at first; he said, I was a fish,

He is far gone; and truly, in my youth, [-4fide.
I suffered much extremity for love;
Very near this.---I'll speak to him again,
What do you read, my Lord ?

Ham. Words, words, words.
Pol. What is the matter, my Lord ?
Ham. Between whom?
Pol. I mean the matter that


Lord. Ham. Slanders, Sir: for the fatirical slave says here, that old men have grey beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber, and plumb-tree gum: and that they have a plentiful lack of wit; together with most weak hams. All which, Sir, tho’ I moli powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down; for yourself, Sir, shall be as old as I am, if, like a crab, you could


backward. Pol. Tho' this be madness, yet there's method in't. WiN you walk out of the air, my

Lord ?
Ham. Into my grave.-

Pol. Indeed, that's out o'th' air
How pregnant (sometimes) his replies are !
A happiness that often madness hits on,
Which sanity and reason could not be
So prosp'rously delivered of. I'll leave him,
And suddenly contrive the means of meeting
Between him and my daughter.
My honourable Lord, I will must humbly
leave of

Ham. You cannot, Sir, take from me any thing
that I will more willingly part withal, except my

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